


Can't get used to something so right

by blcwriter



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:14:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4230138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blcwriter/pseuds/blcwriter





	Can't get used to something so right

Yep.  More prompt fill for [](http://1297.livejournal.com/profile)[**1297**](http://1297.livejournal.com/)  's naughty or nice promptfest this weekend.  This time, Kirk/McCoy, the prompt being nice, _some people never say the words "i love you", it's not their style to be so bold...but like a child i'm longing to be told._  [Thread](http://1297.livejournal.com/31077.html?thread=2000741#t2000741) here.  Promptfest [here](http://1297.livejournal.com/31077.html?page=3&view=2053989#comments).  Go.  Read.  Prompt.  Comment on the excellent fills. 

\-- 

There's no way you can say it. You've tried, so many times, but the words get caught in your throat every time.

Chalk it up to family history-- to abandonment issues-- to whatever and however you want to label the thing, there's too many places to start. But you can't-- and you hate it, because of anyone you've ever known, ever will-- he deserves it the most.

You can't, though. And fuck knows you've tried.

Maybe it's dumb superstition holding you back-- if you say it, he won't believe. Or he'll be taken away, fucking fate intervening again, instead of screwing someone else over for once.

Maybe you're the infant he mocks you as being-- greedy, contrary and selfish, unable to say three words so simple, so monosyllabic, words other people just come out with every day, all the time. Other people you know say those words all the time-- and shit doesn't befall them as a result.

Whatever it is, though, it's there and it's real. It's not fair-- not to poor Bones, not when he's got his own shit that he deserves to get over, his own issues from people who dumped all over him when he was just doing the best that he could in shit circumstances. The best you can do is show him with deeds and not words.

You can and will be there for him when it's some date that means something, a birthday or wedding or death anniversary with whiskey, can be a shoulder to cry on or convenient body to punch. You can and do take the bullet or spear or whatever weird weapon when another damned away mission goes wrong, because no fucking way are any crazy damned aliens hurting your Bones. You make him laugh, let him vent, okay his ideas for research unless there's a serious chance he's going to get himself hurt, in which case it's worth it to put up with his pouting and anger. You try to _show_ (but not tell, because you never can tell) with every action you take that if you could just say those three little words, you'd say them to him every second, always and always, and it'd always mean something, not one of those thoughtless toss-offs some couples got in the habit of saying until the words were grey and shapeless and didn't keep them warm anymore.

You should just say them-- those three words would be a fucking thermonuclear furnace forever, that was how much you loved him.

But you couldn't.

Rage leaked into sheer desperation-- translated itself into hands and mouth, fingers and tongue. Your breath-- gasping in his ear-- your muscles-- trembling as you braced yourself over, thrusting so fucking slowly because if you couldn't say you'd love him always, then at least you could make this seem like this would last almost forever.  So ridiculous that your only language was sex-- but with your teeth and tongue, nip-soothe-suck-tugging, you could taste and mark him yours temporarily all over again.

You kept going until he was totally wrecked, until all he could do was babble your name, that and "please," when he didn't even know what he wanted anymore-- and it wasn't eloquent words to tell him that he was wonderful and all the stuff you thought in your head, even when it wasn't on the tail-end of _holy-fuck, thank god we're alive and now we're both out of sickbay and everything's pretty okay_ post-mission sex-- but you'd taken that torture for him and you'd do it all over again.

You closed your eyes against the sight of him as he came, his half-pained, wordless groan nearly pulling you over before you were done showing him that at least you could always be his release valve-- but then later, when you couldn't hold back any longer, you collapsed, panting, off to the side, trapping your arm underneath your own body as you tried not to dump all your weight on top of Bones.

There was a long silence, and you wondered if you'd pushed things too far-- misread that look in his eye, the one that said he was fed up with you but something else, something more-- and then Bones shifted beside you.

Before you could move, he'd spooned himself in behind you, throwing one leg over yours, a broad hand coming to press over your heart. He spoke, voice raspy and low, the wet heat of his breath on the base of your neck making you shiver.

"Yeah. Love you too, kid. Love you too."


End file.
